


The Pirates of Blackpool

by Metal_Ox137



Series: Doctor Who Companions: The Library of Time [2]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Pirates, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:28:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28638531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Metal_Ox137/pseuds/Metal_Ox137
Summary: Ashildr returns to her former sailing vessel with her time traveling friends to unearth a long-forgotten pirate treasure, but the dark secrets of her own past do not stay buried.
Relationships: Amy Pond/Rory Williams, Ashildr | Lady Me/Clara Oswin Oswald
Series: Doctor Who Companions: The Library of Time [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2090514
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

The holding cells in Gallifrey’s capital city were austere, spartan - and very empty. The need to imprison large numbers of citizens for misbehaviors had evaporated centuries ago. Criminal activity all but ceased to exist in a society where the government had the power to read minds - and the ability to incarcerate long before any crimes had actually been committed.

Romana glumly sat on a long, hard bench in one of the disused cells, elbows on knees, her chin cupped in her hands. She was probably the first citizen of Gallifrey to be jailed in well over a hundred years. They could have left her in the cellblock with all the doors wide open. She was the only prisoner. 

She heard the guard long before she saw him. And the guard wasn’t alone; Romana could distinctly hear two sets of footfalls echoing down the long hallway. She remained seated. The guard came up to Romana’s cell and bowed perfunctorily. “You have a visitor, milady.”

Romana stood up, but as she as she saw the other man, her face clouded with distaste.

“Cardinal Braxiatel,” she sighed with dismay. “The most pompous ass to sit on the High Council for at least six generations. How fortunate am I?”

“More fortunate than you know,” was the curt reply. 

At the older man’s nod, the guard left the cell door open, and then retreated to the far end of the hallway. The older man stood in the open doorway, pulling his red robes a little tighter around his person, lest he sully himself by actually touching any of the prison bars. He looked at Romana disdainfully, and then sighed. 

“Did you really think you wouldn’t get caught?” he asked.

“I assume that’s a rhetorical question,” Romana shot back. 

“Then let’s try a more direct question: what the hell were you thinking?”

Romana scowled. “Is this is my trial?” She demanded.

“For all practical purposes, yes, it is.”

“Then may I know, precisely what it is I am charged with?”

“Apart from your general, reckless stupidity?” Braxiatel snorted with disgust. “Officially, there are two charges against you. The first is that you ordered a temporal extraction of two persons, Clara Oswald and Ashildr Ionharson, both of the planet Earth, without first going through the proper channels of authority. The second charge is that you stole a TARDIS, and granted these two non-Gallifreyans access to that TARDIS, thereby compromising the safety and security of all Time Lord society.”

“That’s laying it on a bit thick, don’t you think?”

“We do not share our technologies with other species. You’ve been taught that since you were a child.”

“They know how to fly a TARDIS. They’ve had access to one for over three hundred years. They aren’t going to crash it into someone’s planet, or re-write history with it.”

“Whether they are capable of piloting a time capsule is immaterial. They shouldn’t have possession of one. Certainly not one of ours. And the fact they even had possession of one for such a long span of time is due entirely to your own irresponsibility.”

“That’s not fair,” Romana cried indignantly. “There were extenuating circumstances...”

The Cardinal held up a silencing hand.

“For the sake of Rassilon, child. These are _tellurians.”_ Braxiatel almost spat the word, as if the vulgarity left a bad taste in his mouth. 

“So, perhaps my real crime is not that I was trying to help someone, but that I was helping someone who isn’t from Gallifrey,” Romana retorted hotly. “That’s a pretty racist viewpoint, don’t you think?”

“The Time Lords are technologically and morally superior to all other humanoid life forms throughout the galaxy - and have been, since the universe was less than half its present size. That is not an opinion. It’s an established scientific fact.”

Romana shook her head in disbelief. “You are so sure of yourself,” she said. “Do you even _listen_ to what you’re saying? If we really are so superior, why are we not helping those less fortunate than ourselves?”

“We do not interfere in the affairs of other peoples, places or times. That is the truest sign of our ultimate superiority. But I refuse to be drawn into a debate with you about the morality of your actions - however questionable I might personally find them. You don’t seem to realize how serious this is. The High Council is openly debating whether or not you should lose one of your regenerations over this incident. You should be a little more concerned for your own welfare.”

“I’m not going to cower in front of you, or any member of the High Council, if that’s what you were hoping for.”

“Romana, you are a very young, and very inexperienced, Time Lord. You haven’t even been through your first regeneration yet. Despite your brilliance, there are things you simply don’t understand, nor can properly appreciate - and you seem to have developed a very cavalier attitude towards the accepted code of conduct in our society. If you expect to remain a part of our society, that needs to change. Drastically. _Immediately.”_ He regarded her with a disdainful shake of his head. “The High Council will shortly decide what is an appropriate punishment for you. As for the tellurians, a Collector will be dispatched to retrieve them.”

Romana’s eyes widened in horror. “A Collector? My Lord, no, please, I _beg_ you...”

Again, Braxiatel waved a hand dismissively at her. “Then perhaps you should have considered that consequence, before you took it upon yourself to be the arbiter of who can or cannot be lifted out of their own time stream,” he said pointedly. “And be thankful that the Council saw fit to pursue that course at all. It would be far simpler to just terminate the pair of them, and be done with it.”

He sighed wearily. “Answer me one question,” he said. “If you can do that without being flippant, or simply rude. Why? Why give these creatures access to one of our time capsules, and let them go gallivanting about the cosmos in it? What purpose could such an action possibly serve?”

Romana regarded the older man thoughtfully. This might be the only exchange of candor between them the entire interview. He really wanted to know. She sighed in her turn.

“We have so many enemies,” she said quietly. “We collect more by the day, even by the hour, and no one on the High Council seems to care. The Time Lords are not well-regarded in the galaxy, my lord. There are many races who are beginning to lump us in with the likes of the Daleks. I like to think - hope, rather - that we are, in fact, better than that. When the council instructed me to bring Clara and Ashildr back to Gallifrey, and return them to their proper time stream, their friends did not see or understand why. All they saw was a technologically superior race forcibly bending them to our will. They only understood our actions in terms of cruelty. I was attempting to show them that not all Time Lords will regard their existence so... arbitrarily. If other races do not understand why we do what we do, they will only grow to hate and fear us. And when they have the ability, they will strike back at us. And we will have deserved it.”

Braxiatel nodded thoughtfully. “I see that you were attempting to act out of what you perceive as kindness,” he allowed. “But it is not for you to decide how we treat inferior races, Romana. That is the purview of the Lord President.”

“Perhaps, to stop regarding all other races as inherently inferior would be an excellent start,” Romana said curtly.

“And if one day you become President, then you can of course implement such ridiculous policies,” Braxiatel said. “I will be grateful to have spent all my remaining regenerations before I ever live to see such a day.”

He waved for the guard to return. “For myself, I _will_ plead clemency for you,” the Cardinal declared. “But in all candor, I must advise you, I am not expecting to find many sympathetic ears on the Council. This will not go well for you, Romana. You’d best prepare yourself for the worst.”

He retreated from the cell, and the guard re-locked the door. Then the two men turned on their heels and unhurriedly walked away. 

Romana sat down on the long bench, and leaned her head back against the cold, bare wall of her cell, blinking back tears. “A Collector,” she murmured in dismay. “Oh, no. What have I _done?”_


	2. Chapter 2

If Rory Williams had learned any one thing from being a time traveler, it was this: time travel always came with strings attached. Always.

Not that he minded the strings in every case, but, they were always there, and one way or another, they had to be dealt with.

Rory was not surprised to see Clara Oswald and her wife Ashildr turning up on his front doorstep, apparently alive and well, even after he’d seen them both die. Rory knew enough about time travel to accept that events in his own life wouldn’t necessarily occur in any strict chronological order. He was grateful, however, that they _had_ turned up, no matter when or where they had come from. 

Rory’s wife, Amy, had been nursing a silent hatred of the Time Lords, ever since they’d sentenced Clara and Ashlidr to death. It hadn’t been an execution, strictly speaking, but it certainly _felt_ like one; and Amy and Rory had witnessed their passing with strong misgivings of their own. Clara and Ashildr’s sudden re-appearance was like an inoculation against the ill will they’d both been feeling. 

There was just one hitch. One tiny little string...

Clara and Ashildr weren’t free to resume their lives. They’d been granted a short reprieve only. According to Clara, they had two weeks in which they could do as they wished, after which they had to return to Gallifrey and be restored to their own private “holding cell” within the Great Matrix. They had returned to Earth specifically to spend that time with Amy and Rory, not only to build upon their new friendship, but also to leave them both with a sense that everything that was to follow was for the best.

And so, the next morning, Rory found himself standing on the main deck of a glorious Brigantine, a beautiful two-masted sailing vessel some eighty feet in length, somewhere in the Caribbean Sea - and he sighed with great contentment. It was dawn, the ship was far out of sight of any land, and the clouds at the horizon were vividly colored by the quickly rising sun; the sky above was clear and the wind was fair. The vessel itself was so carefully maintained, it was almost like brand new, and just standing on its deck was like a dream. Time travel had often upended Rory’s life, but sometimes, it paid some handsome rewards as well, and this was one of them: the sheer joy of being in a time and place he might never otherwise get to see. 

“Good morning, Centurion,” a female voice greeted him. 

Rory turned to see his wife Amy coming up to him. She had dressed herself in a manner similar to the rest of the crew, and her long flame-red hair was partially hidden under a brightly-colored bandana. She smiled broadly at him.

“Well, how do I look?” Amy asked, presenting herself.

Rory grinned in approval. “Very pirate-y. Except for that sports bra under your shirt,” he disclaimed. “I doubt very many sailors were wearing those in the early 1800s.”

“Are you inspecting my undergarments, Mr. Williams?” Amy demanded playfully.

“I am,” Rory admitted. “With my lady’s kind permission, of course.”

“Always granted,” Amy assured him, giving him a quick kiss. “I need a sword, though. And a hat.”

Rory frowned in puzzlement. “A hat?”

“Yeah, you know. A big pirate hat. Like Johnny Depp always wears in the movies.”

“Well, those _are_ just movies,” Rory felt constrained to point out. “And I think any special headgear is probably worn only by the captain.”

Amy made a face. “So I don’t get a hat?”

Rory grinned. “Well... we can ask.”

Amy leaned on the railing next to her husband. “This really is beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Hard to believe Ashildr ever gave this up. According to her, she captained this ship for six years.”

“Why’d she quit?”

Rory shrugged. “She didn’t say. Maybe we’ll find out. I do know, about half this crew sailed with Ashildr before, serving under her as Captain. And they all seem to like her and they miss her.”

“How’d you know that?”

“I’ve been up for a couple hours now. Been talking to some of the crew.”

“And the current Captain’s her former first mate? I did hear that right?”

“Yup. Liam Cudahy by name. Apparently, Ashildr gave this ship to him - literally handed him the keys, as it were, before giving up a life at sea. And for this trip, he’s still Captain. Ashildr and the rest of us are just passengers.”

“She had all this, and she just _stopped?_ There’s got to be a story there, don’t you think?”

“Oh, sure. Maybe it’s in Ashildr’s diaries. Or, you could always just ask her.” 

Amy breathed in the sea air as a gentle breeze pushed against the sails. “This is so _amazing,”_ she gushed. “I can’t believe we’re really here.”

“Hey, at least this time, our fellow time travelers rang the front doorbell and asked us if we wanted to come - rather than just materializing a TARDIS around us,” Rory grinned.

“Right?” Amy laughed. “Where are our two lovebirds, anyway? Are they up yet?”

Rory tilted his head towards the stern of the ship. “They’re on the poop deck. Beating the crap out of each other with a pair of staffs.”

Amy gave her husband a skeptical look. “Seriously?”

“It’s their morning exercise, apparently.”

“Let’s go see!”

Amy and Rory began their stroll along the main deck. The _Winterfell,_ as she was christened, had neither the shallow draft of a sloop, nor the sheer size and power of a proper warship; but she was small and light enough to navigate shallow waters and enter most coves, yet still large enough to stand and fight, able to carry a crew of seventy - as well as a dozen cannons. She was an impressive vessel for her time. In Rory’s eyes, she would be impressive in any era. 

“Is it possible to fall in love with a ship?” he asked Amy half-jokingly.

“Do I have a rival for your affections?” Amy asked in return, giving him a big grin.

As they approached the stern, Amy and Rory could see their two friends circling and striking at each other with long staffs - and while the combat was obviously playful, it was also genuinely intense. Both Clara and Ashildr were dressed only in tan breeches, tied off at mid-shin, and simple white shirts with belled sleeves and open-fastened fronts. There seemed to be another game-within-a-game being played between the two women. As each strike was awarded, the opposing combatant would undo one of the buttons on the other’s shirt - leaving more and more of themselves exposed. Neither was wearing any undergarments. And Clara was obviously taking the worst of it - her shirt was open almost to her waist. It scarcely mattered - in the warm, moist Caribbean air, the light clothing plastered itself to their sweat-slicked bodies, leaving nothing to the imagination. 

As Amy and Rory came up to the short stairs leading to the deck, a furious exchange of parries and strikes was taking place. Clara was surprisingly adept with a staff, but she clearly had no advantage over Ashildr, who had tens of thousands of hours of weapons training in her experience. After a few moments, Ashildr knocked Clara to the deck again, and with a wide grin that also left nothing to the imagination, knelt down to undo the next to last fastener on Clara’s shirt. 

“You’re enjoying this,” Clara fumed, as Ashildr teasingly opened Clara’s shirt a little wider. 

“Yes, I am,” Ashildr grinned.

“Any time there’s the slightest breeze, I’ll be flashing the entire crew.”

“That’s rather the point.”

“I’m not wearing any undergarments,” Clara hissed, pointing out the obvious.

“I know. You look adorable.”

“I’m your wife, not some sex trophy,” Clara grumbled, pushing herself up on one elbow.

“You’re the Captain’s woman,” Ashildr declared. “So, yes, among other things, that makes you my trophy.”

Clara made a face. “You are so incredibly sexist,” she protested, getting to her feet and retrieving her staff. “And you’re not the Captain. Not any more.”

“I wouldn’t put that question to any of the crew, if I were you,” Ashildr said, still grinning. “Might not be wise. Besides, you should feel flattered. I wouldn’t bestow that honor on just anyone. In fact, you’re the only woman I consider worthy of holding my attention that way.”

Clara’s reply was to swing her staff quite suddenly and aggressively towards Ashildr. The smaller woman just barely managed to block the blow with her own staff, and for the next several moments, she was definitely back-footed as Clara pressed her attack. 

“You really are getting better at this,” Ashildr said breathlessly, as she fended off Clara’s ferocious strikes. Then, she swung her own staff low, undercutting Clara’s legs and tripping her up. Clara fell backwards onto the deck. Ashildr planted one end of her staff on Clara’s breastbone and grinned. “But I’m still the best.”

“Cheater,” Clara grumbled.

“I don’t cheat,” Ashildr said mildly. “I’m just better than you. And always will be. Now, yield.”

“Fat chance.”

“This isn’t a parley. You’re beaten, Clara. Yield, and I’ll be merciful.”

Clara glared up at Ashildr, fuming. Then, slowly, her irritated scowl softened into a grin of capitulation. “I’ll yield to the Captain, for a kiss.”

Ashildr considered that for a moment, and then withdrew her staff.

“No need to be so reasonable about it.” She held out her hand to Clara, and helped pull her to her feet. And, as promised, she pulled her close and rewarded her with a passionate kiss.

“Oi! Blackpool!” Amy Pond had settled herself on one of the steps leading up to the deck, and she had been watching the contest with a mix of idle lust - and growing impatience. “When are you two gonna stop with the foreplay, and let the rest of us move on to something interesting?”

“You ready to try some sword fighting, Amy?” Ashildr grinned. “I hear you’re no slouch with a blade.”

“No, thanks,” Amy demurred. “I don’t think I’m ready to be turned into a pile of cold cuts before breakfast.”

“I’ll promise not to cut you, if that helps,” Ashildr offered. “Well... not much, anyways.”

“Oh, that’s a load off,” Amy retorted. “Maybe I’ll just hang back, you know, continue to do some research on the subjects of my first-ever biography.”

“If you’re going to write our life story, it’s best to have a first-hand look at what we’re really like,” Ashildr agreed. “This will be a wonderful opportunity for you to do just that.”

“So, where are we going?” Amy asked. “And when, exactly, are we?”

“Ah, ah!” Ashildr tutted, as she began to re-fasten Clara’s shirt with deliberate slowness. “A good pirate captain _never_ tells her crew where the treasure is buried. The less you know, the safer you are.”

“Well, maybe a little context?” Rory suggested.

“You’re in the Caribbean Sea, the time is 1830-ish,” Ashildr allowed. “And the three of you are going to help me dig up an old treasure I buried about a hundred years ago.”

“So, you _were_ a pirate before.” Amy was now shamelessly fishing for information.

“Oh, yes.”

“And are you a pirate now? I mean, in this time.”

“I was, sort of,” Ashildr admitted. “But this is where I ended my pirate life.” Finally having done up Clara’s shirt, the two women sat together at the top of deck, holding hands, while Amy sat a couple of steps below them, and Rory stood to one side of the short stairwell.

“This is no longer the golden age of piracy,” Ashildr explained. “In this time, the American Navy is now strong enough to keep most pirates out of the Caribbean. And ships like this one are about to vanish from the seas. Steamships are about to take over completely. The _Winterfell_ is the last ship I ever sailed in. She’s still the ship I loved the most.”

“Why’d you stop?” Amy asked.

Ashildr’s smile was surprisingly sad. “Because my time at sea was over,” she said simply. “I dislike engines. They’re noisy and smelly and constantly break down. I preferred to sail with just the wind, the sea and the stars. And around this time, that way of life just... disappeared.”

Amy noticed Clara gently squeezing Ashildr’s hand.

“Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?”

Ashildr shrugged. “Go ahead.”

“How long have you guys been married?”

“Married? Almost eighty years now,” Ashildr answered. “Sleeping together...” she furrowed her brows, thinking. “Closer to a hundred and eighty years.”

“A hundred and eighty years? And you’re _still_ behaving like a pair of horny teenagers on their second date?”

Clara and Ashildr gave each other a questioning look.

“We _are_ taking that as a compliment, aren’t we?” Clara asked.

“Oh, absolutely we are,” Ashildr declared.

“I’m curious to know how you’ve kept that spark,” Rory said, with genuine admiration. “You’ve been married longer than most people have been alive. How do you manage it?”

“It’s the eternal struggle for dominance,” Ashildr deadpanned. “Clara suffers from the delusion that she’s the dominant partner in our relationship. And I have to constantly remind her that she’s not. It’s tiresome, yes, but it does create tremendous sexual tension between us.”

Rory looked up at Clara. “She _is_ joking... isn’t she?”

Clara grinned. “Actually... in the early days of our relationship, that was absolutely true,” she admitted. 

“That’s early days,” Amy said. “How about now?”

Clara shrugged. “She’s the captain. I salute, and I obey orders.”

“So, you’ve just become completely subservient,” Amy needled.

“She lets me lead, whenever I want or need to,” Clara said, in all seriousness. 

“But _she_ allows that,” Amy persisted. “She wears the pants.”

Clara pursed her lips wistfully. “The more submissive I am, the sweeter she gets,” she said. “Hey, don’t scoff. It’s pretty hard to resist.” 

“Clara lets me boss her around,” Ashildr interjected, completely serious. “But make no mistake. She’s the strong one. Whenever we need to make a critical decision as a couple, she has the final say. And whenever I personally need strength, I look to find it in Clara.”

She smiled at Rory. “There’s no big secret to a happy marriage, Rory. But if you’re interested, I can tell you what’s worked for us.”

“Sure. I’m interested.”

“The first rule is, always hold hands.” Ashildr lifted her hand slightly, her fingers still entwined with Clara’s. “The second is, whenever your wife is being sweet to you, and especially if she’s doing something she’d rather not be doing, but she’s doing it just to please you - be appropriately grateful. Third, kisses make great apologies. Apologize often. Even when you don’t think you need to. Always listen. Not just to what she says, but a lot of the time, to what she doesn’t say. If you’re not sure what she’s thinking or feeling, never be afraid to ask. Always ask what else you can be doing. Then do it.”

“Don’t forget playtime,” Clara reminded her.

“Oh, and playtime,” Ashildr agreed. “Like we were doing a few moments ago. Play like little children do. It’s amazing how young and energized you feel afterwards.”

“Excuse me, Captain?” One of the sailors came up to them, and it was obvious he had sailed with Ashildr on a previous voyage. “Captain Cudahy is asking to see you. If you’re free.”

Ashildr gave him a sweet smile. “Thank you, Mr. Clegane. Please tell him I’ll be along directly.”

She turned to Clara. “Sorry,” she apologized. “I had planned to take you back to our cabin and ravage you, but I guess that will have to wait.”

Clara grinned. “That’s all right. I can fuck you any time, at the drop of a hat. You just say when.” She left a light kiss on Ashildr’s lips. 

Amy could only laugh. “You two really _are_ the Yowza couple, aren’t you?”

Clara and Ashildr both gave her a bewildered look. “The Yowza couple?”

“Yeah, you do nothing but Yowz,” Amy assured them. 

Ashildr grinned, taking Amy’s meaning. “Rory, would you mind finding the master at arms? He should be up and about by now. Have him find weapons for you, Amy and Clara.”

“I get a sword?” Amy squealed with glee.

“Yes, you do,” Ashildr told her. “And from this point on, if you’re not in your cabin, make sure you have your weapon on you at all times.”

“You’re not expecting any trouble on this trip... are you?” Rory frowned with concern. 

“I never expect trouble,” Ashildr said, with a subdued smile. “But I have found, over many years’ experience, it always pays to be prepared for it.”


	3. Chapter 3

If Clara Oswald had learned any one thing about time travel, it was this: always travel with someone who loves you. 

Traveling with The Doctor often involved simply getting lost. Many times, it involved helping others in distress. But it was the getting lost part that seemed to appeal to the Time Lord the most. That sort of adventure did bring out the sense that you were truly living, because you never really knew from one minute to the next what was going to happen. Sometimes, nothing happened. Sometimes, something catastrophic did. And sometimes, something truly amazing occurred. 

Clara realized that leaping into the unknown on a regular basis had a tendency to bring out the absolute worst in her. The only reason she was able to keep doing it was because she was traveling with someone who loved her. 

The Time Lord, for all his eccentricities, genuinely loved Clara. Of that, she was certain. 

“I never know how, I never know why,” he told her early on. “I only know who.” Then he gave her a key to his time ship, and kissed her with open and obvious affection. That one simple act made everything else that followed bearable. 

When they eventually separated, Clara found herself with a new companion, essentially a stranger, a woman she’d met briefly twice before and who was now, like herself, for all practical purposes immortal. And for a time, the two women brought out the absolute worst in each other. Clara was reasonably sure they didn’t even like each other in the beginning. And the adventures they shared during that time were tinged with ugliness. It wasn’t just the external events themselves. Clara had nothing to hold onto, nothing that kept her from being her worst self, her least responsible self. A person who knew mostly pain, and who was slowly forgetting how to love. 

On the day that everything changed, nothing really had happened. They were in a meadow, somewhere in England, in the 12th century, no one else around. Just Clara, Ashildr, and their ridiculously out-of-place diner, sitting in a wide field of summer flowers and tall grasses. Ashildr had become despondent, remembering her lost children, and Clara had suggested an impromptu picnic in the countryside. They sat on a quilted blanket, with a wicker basket filled with cheeses, apples, crackers and a bottle of wine. Ashildr was on the verge of tears. Clara simply pulled her close and held her as she wept. And that was all. 

And that one non-event changed everything. 

The next morning, when they sat together for breakfast, they decided to stop traveling “Doctor Style”, and find a style and method of their own. 

For Clara, that meant essentially two things: researching carefully when and where they wanted to go, and plan to stay for an extended period - anything up to several years. Second, and most important, was to make no decision alone. Clara began to share with Ashildr everything she was thinking and feeling about possible destinations. And Ashildr began to do the same in return. They began to look at each other, not just metaphorically, but literally. They had by now spent some time together, and each had seen the worst of the other many times over. They’d seldom seen the best. And Clara now wanted very much to show Ashildr her best side. The result surprised them both. 

Clara had taken both men and women as lovers in the past, so it was nothing to her to share another woman’s bed. But this was different. It wasn’t just the circumstances, although being functionally immortal and possessing a TARDIS did change the calculus more than a little. But to Clara, becoming intimate with Ashildr felt like a gift. In a very real way, the two women had grown up together, and one day they realized they actually liked each other, and wanted to bring out the best in each other. They’d both known each other long enough that pretenses of any kind were simply unnecessary. They knew each other’s habits and preferences. Their travels diminished only in terms of spontaneity. For Clara, letting Ashildr into her heart helped turn her into a proper adult. No longer young, not yet old, taking full responsibility for her own actions - and anchored with a joy and serenity she never believed possible. And almost two hundred years later, the two women were still together, utterly content, and grateful for the many blessings in their lives - and especially, each was grateful for the gift of the other. 

When it came time to plan this final holiday trip, they already knew without needing to discuss, Ashildr would pick her adventure first, and Clara would pick hers next, and the two mini-holidays would bookend each other. 

Clara was surprised when Ashildr suggested going back to the Caribbean. They had sailed together many times, of course, but never in context with Ashildr’s previous life. Ashildr’s time as a pirate had come during a dark period in her life, when she existed without joy or love, suffering much, and causing others to suffer. She seldom spoke of that time. But Clara sensed this was an opportunity for Ashildr to seek closure on this part of her life, and so she agreed, readily. 

Clara, for her part, decided they would end their adventures with a long, lazy week in Giverny, France, in 1885, the last full week of July. They would take long walks in the countryside. They would eat good food and drink many bottles of wine. And if they just happened to meet the great painter Monet during their brief stay, well, then that would be just frosting on the cake. And if they didn’t, that was fine too. 

The one thing different about this trip was inviting another couple to join them, Amy and Rory Williams. They barely knew them, had really only just met them; but they immediately liked them both. And since Amy had agreed to be the conservator of Ashildr’s private diaries, it seemed only proper to let them share in this last adventure. 

Clara knew that even with the most careful planning, adventures once enacted had a way of taking on a life of their own. She had no idea, however, just how eventful this final adventure was about to become.


	4. Chapter 4

Ashildr found Captain Cudahy in the recently-constructed wheelhouse. As she entered, the helmsman and chart master saluted smartly and returned to their duties. Cudahy himself grinned from ear to ear at the sight of her. 

“Welcome aboard, Captain.”

“My thanks... Captain,” Ashildr grinned back, and then quickly embraced him, not caring for any impropriety she might be showing. “It’s good to see you, old friend.”

She looked him over, with obvious affection, but also noting how careworn the intervening years had made him. Even when he was younger, Liam Cudahy had carried a sort of equanimity about him, an even-temperedness of mind and spirit that could calm the most excitable of sailors; he still retained that quality, but to Ashildr, who knew such signs well, he was already silently compensating for poor health, conserving his strength and energy as best he could. His beard was well-trimmed, but his hair was thin, and now mostly gray; and there was an unmistakeable tiredness behind his eyes.

“So. You’ve added a wheelhouse. And a chart room,” Ashildr looked around her approvingly.

“Aye. My own personal wart on the cheek of the princess. What d’ye think?”

“I think... you’re moving with the times,” Ashildr assured him.

Cudahy shrugged. “All modern vessels have them now. No more wind at your back, neither sun nor rain on your face. Although, I’m old enough that sometimes, I take that as a good thing,” he confessed with a self-deprecating smile. “So. Now that you’re aboard, I’m sure a simple passage to Tortuga is not exactly what you had in mind for this voyage.”

“You know me well,” Ashildr laughed.

“Then, might I inquire where we are going?”

Ashildr hesitated for a moment. “Might we speak in private?” she asked.

Cudahy nodded. “Of course. Clear the room,” he ordered.

The helmsman gave him a questioning look. 

“Go have a nice, long smoke on deck, Mr. Patterson,” Cudahy smiled, indicating that he meant to take the wheel. “You can return to your post in a quarter of an hour.”

The helmsman nodded. “Aye, Captain.”

The two officers left the wheelhouse, leaving Ashildr and Cudahy to themselves.

“So, this is pirate business, then?” Cudahy guessed, taking the helm. 

“Isn’t it always?” Ashildr grinned. 

“I have to warn you, most of this crew has never raided another vessel,” Cudahy cautioned. “Our work these days is mostly legitimate. Mostly.”

“Have no fear, my friend. I’m not planning any sea battles for us. Nor any armed raids on the mainlands.”

“What, then?”

“What would you say if I told you... I know the exact location of the lost treasure of Bloody Aislaine?”

Cudahy snorted, trying to suppress outright laughter. “The Devil’s Daughter herself? You know where _that_ treasure lies?”

“I do. And I believe we can recover it, with minimal risk to ourselves.”

Cudahy gave Ashildr an appraising look. “You seriously believe that treasure’s still out there, waiting to be claimed.”

“I don’t think it. I know it.” Ashildr hesitated. “And once we’ve recovered it, you could take your ease at last, my friend. I think you’re ready for that.”

“Ah, yes. _‘In honest service, there is but thin commons, low wages, and hard labour; in this, plenty and satiety, pleasure and ease, liberty and power’,”_ Cudahy quoted. _“ ‘A merrie life and short shall be my motto.’_ I seem to have missed out on most of that. There is, of course, the slightest chance that Bartholomew Roberts was an inveterate liar and a complete scoundrel. He was a pirate, after all.”

“His words may be fanciful, but I assure you, the treasure is not,” Ashildr assured him. “It’s very real, and we can claim it for ourselves. There’s more than enough to compensate you and your crew for any pains we might take in recovering it.”

“And might I ask how you came by such... convenient information?”

“I have my sources,” Ashildr allowed.

Cudahy regarded her thoughtfully. “Are you, at any point, going to come right out and admit you were in fact Bloody Aislaine herself?”

Ashildr gave him a tolerating smile. “Really, Liam. Aislaine sailed these waters well over a hundred years ago.”

“Aye, she did,” Cudahy nodded. “And from all accounts, she looked remarkably like yourself.”

Ashildr sighed. “Oh, _please_ don’t tell me you’re one of those superstitious sailors who actually believes those lurid tales about the Devil’s Daughter?”

“I believe what I can see,” Cudahy answered. “And while my eyes are no longer as sharp as they were, they see well enough. I haven’t laid eyes on you in seven years, Ashildr. And you haven’t aged a day. And I’m not just being complimentary.” 

He paused for a moment, gauging her reaction. “Not everyone sees for true, and fewer still understand the truth of what they see. While I have no proof, I’m certain now you’re not only likely older than myself, you might be older than I can possibly imagine. You guard yourself well,” he added quickly. “But the signs are there, for those who choose to see them. I’m not prepared to come right out and say, you and Aislaine are one and the same person. But, it would not surprise me to hear such a thing divulged as truth.”

Ashildr sighed heavily. “Do you truly believe me to be demonspawn, Liam?”

Cudahy smiled reassuringly. “For all I know of Ashildr Ionharson, she is a honorable woman, a true sailor, a fearless warrior, an excellent captain, and a faithful friend,” he declared. “And I respect and trust you well enough that if you were to declare that the _Winterfell_ is once more your ship, I would gladly turn the helm over to you this instant, without a second thought, or a regret.”

Ashildr found herself blinking back tears. “Thank you,” she murmured.

“We all have secrets we keep. I do not ask you to reveal yours,” Cudahy said. “I only ask, whatever you tell me, tell me the truth. That’s all I ever need from you. Captain.”

Ashildr stood by the man’s side, not speaking for several moments, trying to govern her emotions. In all her years of traveling, the sort of simple acceptance offered by Liam Cudahy was a rare thing indeed. He saw her for what she truly was, and thought no more or less of her for it. It was Cudahy, more than anyone, who had been responsible for Ashildr’s success in her second stint as both a pirate and a ship’s captain. His willingness to take her orders, and convincing the crew to do likewise, helped them have a good, long run as pirates in a time when piracy was waning - and more importantly to Ashildr, they had done so without taking any innocent lives. She vowed silently to herself that if she could reward this man in any way for his unassuming friendship, she would surely do it. 

“Might I inquire about your companions?” Cudahy asked, after some time had passed.

Ashildr smiled. “None are sailors, unfortunately,” she admitted. “But, with your permission, I’ll find some work for them among the crew. No idle hands aboard the _Winterfell.”_

“They aren’t passengers, then?”

“Technically, I suppose they are,” Ashildr admitted. “But, I want them to earn their keep, just as I once did. Only my wife, Clara, has ever sailed before.”

Cudahy raised an eyebrow. “And which is Clara?”

“The shorter one, with the dark hair.” Ashildr studied his face for any signs of surprise or shock. “You don’t find my marrying another woman indecent?”

“Indecent?” Cudahy frowned. “No. I’m just agreeably surprised you married. You’ve long needed a companion, Ashildr. I’m happy you’ve finally found one.”

“She has given me stability,” Ashildr admitted.

“And the other two?”

“Rory and Amy Williams. They’re married, too. Legally.” Ashildr grinned. “And while neither has any experience as a sailor, they can handle themselves in a fight. They may not look it, but each is excellent with a sword.”

“That’s good to know.”

“I’m not expecting any close quarter battles, but, should we need them, feel free to call upon them. While this is my expedition, I intend to impress upon them they need to follow your orders while aboard ship.”

Cudahy nodded thoughtfully. “I take it that the nature of our voyage is to kept from the crew.”

Ashildr nodded. “For now. Yes. Once we’ve taken on provisions at Tortuga, I can be more forthcoming about our destination. But the voyage is not a long one. I’m hoping to make this final voyage with you short, happy and prosperous.”

“Your final voyage?” There was open dismay in Cudahy’s face. 

“Yes, my friend. I’m afraid my sailing days are over. I’m married now,” she pointed out. “And I intend to settle down. But it pleases me to be able to sail with you, one last time. I can’t think of a better way to end my career as a pirate.”

“You honor me.”

“As to the treasure, it is yours. I’ll ask that Amy and Rory be allowed to take a modest souvenir for themselves, should they wish it. But the rest I’ll leave with you, and you can disburse amongst your crew as you see fit.”

Cudahy couldn’t hide his surprise. “You want nothing for yourself?”

Ashildr shook her head. “Where Clara and I are going, we’ll have no need for treasure.”

A look of grave concern settled on Cudahy’s face. “You fill me with dread, Ashildr, when you say such things.”

“Fear me not.” Ashildr gave him a reassuring smile. “This part of my life is coming to an end, yes. But there is a whole new life ahead of me that I’m anxious to experience. And this part of my life will end in the company of friends both old and new. I can’t ask more blessing than that.”

Cudahy bowed his head slightly, aware of finding himself in a privileged moment. “For Tortuga, then.”

“For Tortuga,” Ashildr confirmed. “And now, with your permission, I’ll see about putting my companions to good use.”

“Then speak with Mr. Gibbs,” Cudahy nodded. “I’m sure between you, you’ll find something suitable.”

“I will.”

As she made to leave the wheelhouse, Cudahy called after her. “Ashildr.”

She stopped at the door and turned back. “Yes?”

“It’s good to see you again,” he said simply. 

Ashildr smiled. “It’s good to see you, too, old friend. And I look forward to having one last adventure with you.”

Then she turned and went out. Cudahy remained at the wheel, his expression thoughtful. It is an unsettling thing, he decided, for mortals to find suddenly themselves in the company of immortals. Even, and perhaps especially, if they were friends.


	5. Chapter 5

“What a tourist trap.”

Ashildr’s upper lip curled slightly in annoyance. She was looking around the Port of Tortuga, with its lines of shops, restaurants, trading posts - even a bank.

“What’s wrong with this?” Rory asked, surprised at Ashildr’s disgust. “Seems perfectly respectable to me.”

Ashildr, Clara, Rory and Amy were walking down what was evidently the Main Street of the port, and while it still retained some unique flavor of the Caribbean, the indigenous aspects were severely muted by the English, French and Spanish influences seen everywhere in the architecture.

“That’s the word. _Respectable.”_ Ashildr almost spat her reply. “These people are no more respectable than the pirate I used to be. They’re just wealthy Europeans pushing the local populations out and away, to make way for their commerce.”

“And you were last here a hundred years ago?” Rory was trying to put the pieces together, without being blatantly nosy. “Does that mean you were a Buccaneer?”

“No,” Ashildr laughed. “The Brethren were long done before I made my way to this part of the world. The Buccaneers flourished around in the mid-1600s, but they were basically done by 1680-something. I didn’t arrive in the Caribbean until much later. 1740, I think. There was still pirating going on then, but nothing like the Golden Age. I missed that, sadly.”

“What I want to know is, why do I have to wear a dress, and you two don’t,” Amy complained. 

“Because _you_ wanted to go shopping,” Ashildr reminded her. “Respectable ladies who visit fine shops still wear dresses with bustles. Clara and I, on the other hand, we’re not respectable. You can tell because we’re wearing pants. We’re going to find a tavern somewhere in the disreputable part of town - and by that, I mean any of the few places where the natives are still allowed to live in their own country - and get blind drunk.”

“That’s really how you want to spend your one afternoon in Tortuga?” Rory asked. “Can’t you get drunk pretty much anywhere?”

“This is _my_ holiday, and I’ll spend it how I please,” Ashildr said, somewhat crossly. “And believe me, I have to drink a _lot_ to actually get drunk. Damn Mire technology keeps purging the alcohol from my bloodstream as fast as I can pour it in. Fortunately, the locals have some illegally potent brews not even alien tech can keep up with. You guys are very welcome to join us, once you’re done shopping.”

“Where can we find you?” Amy asked.

“Just look for the tavern in the ‘bad’ part of town where there’s a brawl going on,” Ashildr grinned. 

Rory cast a dubious look at Clara.

“Hey, don’t look at me,” Clara protested. “Like Ashildr said. This is her holiday. I’m just along for the ride.”

“You’re just going to let your wife stroll into the nastiest pub in the worst part of town, get drunk and start a fight,” Rory said, still not quite believing. 

“I learned a long time ago, there are certain things I can demand of Ashildr, and certain things I can’t,” Clara shrugged. “I knew when I married her there would be days like these. Comes with the package.”

Rory still gave her a dubious look, so Clara added, “Acceptance is part of the deal, Rory. Once you’ve been married thirty or forty years, trust me, it will be a lot clearer to you then.”

“So, if I can find my pirate hat quick enough, and get my sailor garb back on, can I be drunk and disreputable too?” Amy asked. She seemed quite keen on the idea.

“Sure, the more the merrier,” Ashildr grinned. “And bring your husband. He can be our chaperone.”

“Awesome!” Amy almost sang the word.

“You mean, herd you all back to the ship before you get thrown in jail,” Rory retorted dryly.

“See? Now you’re getting it,” Ashildr laughed. “You’ll make a fine husband, Mr. Williams.”

“He already does.” Amy held out her arm to Rory. “Well, you heard the lady, mister. Let’s go power shopping.”

Rory sighed, capitulating. “Yes, ma’am.”

Arm in arm, they started to walk away in the direction of the shops.

“Just remember, you haven’t lived until you have to work on deck in a bad sea and with a really bad hangover,” Ashildr called after them. 

“Rory has a point,” Clara said, taking Ashildr’s arm.

“Oh, yes? What’s that?”

“You’re being unusually sociopathic today. I haven’t seen you like this since your ‘Lady Me’ days.”

“Oh, I’m going for far worse than ‘Lady Me’,” Ashildr promised. “This trip, I’m channeling Aislaine. The pirate queen herself.”

“I can hardly wait,” Clara declared, steeling herself for the day to come. 

“It puts me in the proper mindset to dig up buried treasure,” Ashildr grinned. “Besides, you have days when you need to get all the naughty out of your system. I’ve seen plenty of those. So don’t deny me, when it’s my turn.”

“That’s true,” Clara conceded.

“I want to get you drunk. _Proper_ drunk.”

“Oh, _please,”_ Clara made a face. “The liquor in this time period is so disgusting. Besides, I’m an obnoxious drunk. You know that.”

“You’re a _horny_ drunk,” Ashildr corrected her. “And that’s exactly what I want you to be for the rest of this trip. My incredibly horny Clara.”

“What, I haven’t been horny enough for you already? I’m pawing you constantly,” Clara protested. “I don’t need to be sick to my stomach on top of everything else.”

“You don’t get sick when you drink,” Ashildr countered.

“Sure, I do.”

“No, you don’t. What, don’t you remember all those Saturday nights in Glasgow pubs, singing Karaoke and drinking sake?” Ashildr shuddered. “Dreadful.”

“What, you don’t like my Adam Ant covers?” Clara pretended to be hurt. “Or the Spice Girls?”

“Civilization is so overrated,” Ashildr declared with a moue of distaste. “So... let’s go be uncivilized. While we’re still able.”

* * * 

Amy was overjoyed to find her sought-after tri-corner hat in a men’s haberdashery. The clerk was bemused that a fine lady would seek to make such a purchase, but as she was offering coin - thoughtfully provided by Captain Cudahy - the deal was quickly made. A short time later, Amy and Rory returned to the port in their sailor’s garb, and went in the direction where Clara and Ashildr were last seen. 

It didn’t take them long to find their friends. And as they entered the ramshackle tavern, the barkeep just rolled his eyes, and pointed to a table in the far corner. Clara and Ashildr had evidently put away more than a few tankards of whatever the local brew was, and were laughing merrily. 

“Well, no fighting,” Rory said to Amy. “That’s a plus, I suppose.”

“Day’s still young,” Amy reminded him. 

They joined their friends at the table. 

“Hey, so this is where the not so respectable people hang out,” Rory greeted them, pulling out a chair for Amy. The joints were so loose, it felt like the chair might fall apart any minute. 

“We’re very respectable,” Clara assured him with a laugh. “Just not very sober.”

“I thought for sure there would be bodies flying through windows by this point.”

“We almost had some trouble earlier,” Clara admitted. “But Ashildr has been remarkably well-behaved. So far.” 

“Leadworth!” Ashildr greeted Amy joyfully, with the exuberance only the very inebriated can display. 

“Looks like you guys have a good head start on us,” Amy said. 

Clara stuck out her tongue and pushed one of the half-emptied tankards over to Amy. “Better try it first,” she warned. “It’s pretty foul. It takes three or four pints before you start to not notice the taste. No, no, don’t sniff it. If you’re smart, just slam it down, fast as you can, and hope your stomach and kidneys will one day forgive you.”

Amy regarded the tankard dubiously, and then brought it to her lips, taking several long gulps. She shuddered with revulsion. 

“Oh. My. GOD,” she groaned. _“This_ is what you’ve been drinking all day?”

“Only the best for the great-great-granddaughter of the infamous pirate queen Aislaine. Don’t ask,” Clara said. 

“Should I turn off my taste buds?” Rory asked, in all seriousness.

“You can _do_ that?” Clara asked, evidently impressed.

“Yeah. Normally I don’t need to. But in this case...”

“Can you get drunk?” Ashildr asked suddenly. 

“You know, I’ve never tried,” Rory said, in all honesty. “I mean, I drink, even before I was plasticized. But I’ve never tried to drink to pass out, or incapacitate myself. My guess is no. But we’ll see.”

“Oh, good,” Ashildr said, belching audibly. “You can be the designated driver, then.”

“There are no cars in this time period, Ash,” Clara reminded her. 

“Oh. Right. Well... Rory can still drag me back to the ship, yeah?”

“Okay, we obviously have a _lot_ of brain cells to kill, to catch up to you two,” Amy decided aloud. 

“I’m trying to obliterate Aislaine from my memory,” Ashildr explained, making a heroic effort not to slur her words. 

“I thought you couldn’t remember anything,” Amy objected. “That’s why you had to write it all down.”

“I thought that, too,” Ashildr agreed. “But every once in a while... the memories come roaring back. I don’t know where they hide. But I wish they’d stay hidden. Because it always hurts when they come back. Always.”

She drained the last of the tankard in front of her, some of the brown ale spilling down the front of her shirt. 

“This treasure we’re after... it was Aislaine’s?” Rory asked. 

Ashildr nodded. “Yeah. I’m sorry, you guys. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. This is taking me back to a really dark place. There was a time when I was... not a very good person. This was before The Doctor was keeping close tabs on me, obviously. Or he’d surely have put a stop to it. Put a stop to me.”

She reached for another tankard and took a long swig. “The first time I was a pirate, I almost didn’t survive,” she confessed. “And for me, that’s saying something.”

Amy and Rory exchanged glances. It was evidently confessional time. 

“I was gang-raped and left for dead,” Ashildr admitted, relaying the information matter-of-factly, no anger or sadness behind her words. “You know. The old superstition about a woman on a ship being bad luck. It was only bad luck for me, I guess. I probably should have stopped there. But I can be stubborn, Clara knows. The second time I went to sea, I ended up killing half the crew, thinking they were going to sexually assault me, and I wasn’t having any part of that. I’m not joking. The ship left port with seventy men. It returned four months later with thirty. And, gee, suddenly, I had a reputation. The girl who runs with scissors. Well. With a cutlass, at any rate.” She looked at her friends sourly. “You’re not drinking.”

Automatically, Rory, Clara and Amy all reached for the tankards immediately in front of them, and took large swallows. Amy couldn’t quite suppress a shudder - but then, in a show of solidarity, bravely took another gulp. 

“My third trip, I guess I was successful as a captain. And a pirate,” Ashildr said. “By which I mean, I didn’t kill any of my own crew this time. But this treasure... there’s blood on it. Hundred year old blood, but blood, nonetheless. And I ordered it. I killed people. And I ordered my crew to kill. We had riches, we had gold. But Robert’s whole song and dance about ‘ease and liberty’... it was all bullshit. I had none of that. I realized I enjoyed being a thief. Killing people...” Ashildr shook her head forcefully. “Not fun. Never was.”

“Well, that’s good, right?” Amy offered uncertainly. “If your conscience was pricking you.”

“It was, but not enough,” Ashildr said grimly. “I was still in the mindset that nobody mattered, because they were all dead anyway. I would outlive any person I ever met. I’ve been in wars, but that’s different. There, at least, everyone expects to die, and they’re all trying to kill you back. But pirating... that’s a whole different thing. Piracy is raping, looting, robbing, pillage and murder, all rolled up into one really nasty ball. You don’t get one without all the others. Eventually, I looked in the mirror and said to myself, I don’t want to be the leading cause of death in the Caribbean. So I sailed to England, and became a brigand instead. Highway robbery seldom meant shooting anyone. At least... not to kill them.”

Ashildr downed another tankard in a long series of gulps. Her friends all pretended to do likewise. 

“I did return to pirating, and in this part of the world,” she continued. “But a hundred years had gone by, and I had a little perspective by then. I assembled my new crew very carefully. Some men respond very well to having a woman in charge. Others simply won’t have it. I tried to collect as many of the former as I could. And I had learned how to threaten and scare people into giving me what I wanted, without killing them. My second stint was with Liam, as you’ve already figured out. And several members of the crew currently serving on the _Winterfell_ were part of the crew I put together several years ago. We didn’t make the really big hauls, but, we stole enough to live reasonably well, and nobody died. I was still a pirate. But I wasn’t a psychotic murderer to boot. I guess what this trip is all about is... I’ve one more murder to commit. Somehow, I’ve got to kill Aislaine. I never want her coming back. I don’t want to see her, know her. She was, she is, the person I never want to be again. I can’t rewind time and make her disappear. But I want to see if I can at least make her ghost stop haunting me. Somehow.”

“We will do whatever we can, to help you,” Clara said, reaching over and squeezing Ashildr’s hand. 

“I’m so glad you guys are here,” Ashildr smiled. “There’s no way I could even think of doing this if I didn’t have a posse of some kind. Thanks for walking the path with me. And Amy, Rory, if you guys want to take a little souvenir from the treasure with you when you go home, please do. I told Liam I would turn over anything that survived, minus a few baubles you might want to pick out.”

“Oh, we don’t need anything like that,” Rory demurred. 

“Well... take a look, before you say a hard no,” Ashildr advised. “I don’t believe in curses. But getting rid of this cache, I’m hoping it will be like drawing poison out of my bloodstream. When I leave the Caribbean after this trip, I want to be able to say, I’m not a pirate any more. And whatever damage I’ve done is obscured by history. Fuck Aislaine. She’s not me, and I never want to see her again.”

Ashildr looked around at all the now-empty tankards on the table in disgust. “Okay. We need another round,” she declared. “Who’s buying?”


	6. Chapter 6

Ashildr was rather lax in her vow to drink the night away; in fact, when her companions gently suggested a return to the ship as the sun was setting, to everyone’s surprise, she readily agreed. 

She also bewildered everyone further by abruptly veering off into a nearby church as they passed on their way to the docks. 

“Two minutes,” she promised, as she hurried inside. 

“What is all that about?” Amy asked, gawking after her in amazement. “I didn’t think she was religious.” 

Clara could only shake her head. “I have no idea. It’s news to me, too.”

As promised, Ashildr reappeared about two and a half minutes later, and smiled brightly. “Okay. We can go now.”

The _Winterfell_ had dropped anchor a short distance from the docks, in a deeper part of the cove. The four friends rowed back to the vessel in a longboat. As expected, Ashildr was scarcely out of the tavern when she was no longer drunk. 

“Curse of the Mireware,” she quipped. “I’m forever sober, unless I’m actually pouring the booze down my throat.”

Rory likewise suffered no ill effects; his Auton enhanced body analyzed the alcohol, duly processed it, neutralizing its more toxic elements, leaving him sober as a judge throughout a day of steady drinking. Amy and Clara, however, were slightly worse for wear, having no alien technologies to pull them through another dubious bout of self-harm. Amy’s hardy Scots constitution at least kept her upright, and the worst Clara suffered was a mild headache. All in all, as far as drinking binges were concerned, that had to be considered a success. 

After everyone else had retired for the night, Ashildr remained above decks, sitting on the railing, looking back at the port, even when it was well after dark. Finally, Clara came on deck looking for her.

“Are you coming to bed?”

Ashildr smiled. Clara couldn’t see Ashildr’s face in the moonless darkness, and the few lanterns on deck weren’t anywhere close enough to illuminate their faces, but Clara could sense the smile all the same. Centuries together had taught them both how to fill in any gaps in what their senses couldn’t tell them. 

“In a few minutes,” Ashildr promised. “I’m just waiting for someone.”

“Waiting for someone?” 

Ashildr straightened up. “Ahh. And there he is now.”

Off in the distance, Clara could just barely make out a longboat rowing towards them across the dark water, with a single lantern on one of the planks. 

For a moment, Clara glanced overhead, and was distracted by all the stars. The sky was clear and the moon was below the horizon, and as there was no light pollution of any significance from either the port or the ship, only the natural light of the universe remained overhead, highlighted by the spectacular ribbon of the Milky Way, stretching across the sky. Clara had seen it a few times, but the sight of the heavens always impressed her. The Doctor had made his home out there, among all those stars. For a time, Ashildr and Clara had too. She wasn’t sorry their traveling was coming to an end. But knowing the end was coming did make everything they did together seem so much more bittersweet. 

A few moments later, the longboat came alongside the ship, and a lanky figure clambered up the rope ladder to the deck. He waved to man in the longboat, who waved back, and began to row unhurriedly, making the slow return to shore. Ashildr greeted the new arrival warmly. 

“Father. Thank you for coming.”

“Thank you for inviting me,” he said with a smile. He was a younger man, perhaps just this side of thirty, rather thin but with a genial manner. It was hard to tell in the dim light, but he appeared to be wearing a dark suit with a cleric’s collar. “I must say, I’m not often asked aboard a pirate ship. This is rather a novelty.”

Ashildr laughed softly. “You’ll find more believers among the crew than you might think. I’ll present you to the captain in a few minutes. But first, let me take you to Mr. Gibbs, and he can find you a berth for the night.”

Clara could only watch in bewilderment as Ashildr escorted the young man away. A few minutes later, Ashildr returned. 

“A priest? You seriously brought a priest aboard a pirate ship?”

“I seriously did,” Ashildr affirmed.

“Are you going to tell me what this is all about?”

“No,” Ashildr answered simply. 

“Seriously, Ashildr, what’s going on? You’ve been acting strange this entire trip.”

When Ashildr gave her a reproachful look, Clara backtracked slightly. “Okay. Bad phrasing. Let me try again. I just want to know, are you okay? And, what can I do to help you?”

Ashildr paused for a long moment. “No,” she said finally. “No, I’m not okay. I’m really struggling with this, Clara. I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing or not. But I promised myself I would never lie to you, if I wasn’t all right. And the honest answer is, I’m not all right.”

“Okay, then,” Clara sighed, grateful to have at least one mystery out of the way. “What can I do? How can I help you?”

Ashildr sighed heavily. “I was going to say, there’s nothing you can do, but that’s not entirely true,” she allowed. “This is something I have to work out for myself. But yes, you can help. You can comfort me. You can take me back to our cabin, and cuddle and fondle me until I fall asleep. I know that doesn’t seem like much. But that’s what you can do right now, to help me. And trust me, it _will_ help.”

“Aislaine is in your thoughts tonight, isn’t she?”

“Yes, she is,” Ashildr admitted. “But I’m still hopeful, when this trip is over, she is one ghost who is laid to rest, never to haunt me again.”

* * * 

The following morning, Ashildr gathered with Liam, Clara, Amy and Rory in the wheelhouse, to chart out their destination. Liam unrolled a huge map of the local area immediately around Haiti and Ashildr studied it carefully. 

“There.” She put her finger down on the map. “This is where we need to go.”

The spot she marked appeared to be in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, approximately halfway between Haiti and the Caicos. 

“But... there’s nothing there,” Rory objected.

Ashildr grinned. “The best places are never on any map. What, did you think I was going to pull out a piece of parchment where ‘X’ marks the spot?”

“Well, kind of, yeah,” Rory admitted.

“If it’s not on the map, then how do we know where we’re going?” Amy asked, not unreasonably.

“We just need to follow this heading. For now, we just need to head in the right direction. Once we reach a certain point, then I’m going to ask you guys to all act as spotters.”

“And what, exactly, are we spotting for?” Clara asked.

“Shallows. Sandbars. There are dozens, maybe hundreds, of tiny atolls and half-sunken islands between here and the Caicos. And at least at this point in history, not every one of them has been bought up by some billionaire for his own private getaway home.”

“So, we’re looking for an island,” Rory guessed. “One too small to be significant to any mapmakers.”

Ashildr grinned. “Yes. But excellent for pirates. And even legitimate ships that pass through this area frequently sometimes use them for emergency stops. They even bury caches of rum and other supplies for future use.”

“Please tell me we’re looking for more than a cask of rum,” Rory groaned.

“We’re definitely looking for more than a cask of rum,” Ashildr promised. 

“Hey, there’s a thought. A cask of rum that magically refills itself and never runs dry,” Amy suggested brightly. “The ultimate pirate treasure.”

“It might be the ultimate treasure at that,” Liam chuckled. Apparently, the idea amused him greatly. “Ashildr, I think we’ll wait to tell the crew, until after we’ve determined there is in fact any treasure to be brought aboard.”

“Of course. We won’t mention it. But your crew aren’t simpletons. They’ll know something’s up and once we start looking for small islands, they know how to add.”

“They do,” Liam agreed. “I’m just curious why you feel we need a priest to help us recover a treasure buried over a hundred years ago.”

“He’s not here to help with the treasure. I need him for something else. And please, don’t ask. For now, that’s my burden to bear.”

“As you wish.” Liam gave her a paternal smile. “We’ll set out immediately. Winds are light still, but they’re picking up. I trust you won’t be far from the wheelhouse.”

“I’ll be close by,” Ashildr promised.

When Ashildr and Clara came out onto the deck, Ashildr took Clara by the elbow and drew her aside. 

“Clara... once we find what we’re looking for... I’m going to need your help.”

“Whatever you need,” Clara said simply. 

“Thank you.” Ashildr smiled gratefully. “It may not be that I need you to do any one thing, specifically. But... stay close to me. Please? Stay close.”

“Ashildr, there’s no danger involved in this treasure hunt, is there?” Clara frowned in concern. 

Ashildr shook her head sadly. “No. No danger for you, or anyone else. Just me. No danger... from the living.”


	7. Chapter 7

“Searching for a sand spit in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean? Wouldn’t a needle in a haystack be easier?”

Ashildr could only smile at Rory’s question. “It presents challenges, I agree.”

“I mean, it’s not like you buried the treasure last week, or even last year,” Rory pointed out. “It’s been a hundred years. Would you even recognize this place again? A lot can happen in that time. Maybe a hurricane came by, and turned the island into shallows. Or the whole landscape of the island may have changed.”

“I’ll know,” Ashildr said simply.

The _Winterfell_ was now sailing within the area where the island was supposed to be located, and the entire crew was ordered to keep one eye on the horizon at all times. The nearer to the destination, however, the more somber and withdrawn Ashildr became. Clara tried many times, without success, to draw out her companion, and get some other information about their voyage. Eventually, she relented, and left her in peace. It was obvious this wasn’t about the recovery of a buried treasure, not as far as Ashildr was concerned. She was working through some private issue of her own, and was evidently determined to keep it that way. The only time Ashildr seemed more like herself was when Amy coaxed her into teaching her sword fighting. They had some spirited practice sessions on a cleared section of the main deck, and many of the crew stopped to watch. Amy was by now fairly competent with a sword. Not spectacular, but good. But as Clara had experienced with her staff, Amy wasn’t any real match for Ashildr - although they both obviously enjoyed practicing together. And Clara was grateful that at least during these practice sessions, Ashildr seemed distracted from whatever was bothering her. It was one of rare times she seemed to be enjoying herself.

At length, they came across a small island, the bulk of which was little more than a sand spit, but it did have a small core of rock which was festooned with date palms and other trees, which meant it had at least enough fresh water to keep mature plants alive. As soon as she saw the island off the horizon, Ashildr seemed to freeze up. She barely spoke, and became quite cross with anyone who attempted to make conversation with her, even Liam. All the while, Clara watched her lover intently - and worried.

They circled the island, which didn’t take long, considering its modest size. At length, Liam turned to Ashildr for a decision. 

“Is this the place?”

Hesitantly, Ashildr nodded. “I think so, yes. Certainly worth pulling out a longboat and making a quick look for ourselves.”

“Who’s in the shore party?”

“You. Me. Father Perez. Clara, Amy, Rory. And, if you don’t mind, Mr. Clegane and Mr. Gibbs.”

“Might not be the best idea, to have both the captain and the first mate away from the ship,” Liam pointed out.

“I know. But they were part of the original crew we put together, and they’re men I trust. If you want to leave them behind, fine. You’re the captain. You can overrule my recommendations.” She gave him a subdued smile. “Once we load spades and shovels in the longboat, the crew will know what we’re after. But most of these men I’ve sailed with before, and I know they won’t betray us. As for the rest, well... they’re not likely to mutiny and sail away, knowing the shore party might be coming back with something... shiny.”

“Aye, that’s true enough,” Liam agreed. “I can guess why you asked for the padre,” he added quietly. “That’s a fine gesture, Ashildr.”

Ashildr merely shrugged without answering.

After some deliberation, it was decided to leave Patterson, the second mate, who also doubled as first helmsman, in temporary command of the ship. At Ashildr’s direction, they circled the island again, and anchored a short distance from the longest sand spit - which left a protected way into the shallows for the longboat. Had the island been larger, the area might have become a sheltered cove, and it still slightly resembled one, although the western “arm” of the cove was nothing more than a wide stretch of white sand. 

They set out shortly thereafter, with lanterns, utensils and a day’s worth of provisions. They made their way to the shore quickly enough, and although Amy and Rory seemed reluctant to leave the boat while still in waist-deep water, they gamely followed Ashildr and Clara over the side, and helped guide the boat in until it touched bottom. Gibbs and Clegane were to remain with the longboat, while the rest of the party went further inland. It was not quite midday when they set out. Everyone was grateful that the island was large enough to have trees - they provided some welcome shade as the explorers carefully picked their way along the rough terrain. 

“There must be a freshwater spring or something,” Amy observed. “None of these trees could live off salt water.”

“Or, there may be a shallow rock basin that catches enough seasonal rain to keep everything green,” Rory suggested. “This island seems kind of small to have its own native supply of fresh water.” 

As they passed by several brackish pools, it seemed Rory’s suggestion was most likely the correct one. Unfortunately, it meant that the island was unlikely to supply them with new reserves of drinking water, so barring an unexpected rainstorm, they would be limited to the water supplies at hand. 

Ashildr led the way, and she barely spoke. No one tried to distract her, as she was obviously busy trying to reconstruct a hundred-year-old path from a desolate speck of rock and sand in the middle of the ocean. But Clara understood better than most that while Ashildr remained focused on finding the proper landmarks, she was also likely grappling hard with the ghost of Aislaine, the woman she once was - and who still left her with grave doubts about herself.

Clara had by now “lived” a little over three centuries, and that experience was surreal enough to her. She still had no idea how Ashildr had managed to live well over a thousand years longer than that, and not go completely mad. Then again, she reflected sadly, maybe she had. Maybe Aislaine was the woman Ashildr had been when she could no longer cope with her own immortality. Even so, she seemed remarkably whole now; Clara silently vowed she would do whatever was necessary to help keep Ashildr that way.

Ashildr requested the rest of the party to hang back several paces, she was unsure of the way, and had to retrace her path several times. But after a few false meanderings, she finally brought them an open cul-de-sac, surrounded by tall trees and walled in on three sides by sharp outcroppings of dense, black rock. The soil beneath was mostly dry, and sandy; it turned easily. 

“This is it,” she announced. Her voice seemed curiously pitched.

“We dig here?” Rory asked for confirmation.

Ashildr nodded. “Captain, if you wouldn’t mind, return to the boat? Ask Mr. Clegane to join us here. We could use his services now.”

Liam nodded gravely. “If you want Gibbs too, I can stay with the longboat,” he offered.

Ashildr shook her head. “No. We really only have space in here for two men to dig, without people getting in each other’s way. Rory, since you have Auton enhanced muscles, I was hoping you wouldn’t mind being one of the diggers.”

Rory shrugged. “Sure, suits me.”

“And I was hoping you might take your shirt off,” Amy added, with a tinge of lust in her voice. 

Ashildr couldn’t help laughing. “You’ll probably want to do that anyway,” she advised. “At least, try to keep your shirt somewhat clean. This is very dirty work.”

Liam Cudahy left them, to make his way back to the boat. Clara offered to dig for a time, until Mr. Clegane could join them. Rory and Clara began to turn over the soft sand, and at Ashildr’s direction, started making a mound immediately in front of the rock face at the far end of the cul-de-sac. 

“How far down will we need to go?” Rory asked.

“Probably about five feet down, you’ll start finding bones,” Ashildr answered.

“Bones?” Rory thought he hadn’t heard right.

“Yes. And when you find the first of them, stop right there. I will take over the digging at that point.”

“Wow. I thought burying any witnesses to the treasure’s location was just something they made up in stories.”

Ashildr didn’t answer, so Rory kept digging. Although Clara’s shirt was soaked through with sweat, she gamely continued to dig as well. 

“Dig wider,” Ashildr instructed. “We need room for at least two men to bring up the chest.”

“How far out should we go?” Clara asked.

There wasn’t a trace of a smile on Ashildr’s face. “Imagine you’re digging a grave.”

Liam returned with Mr. Clegane a few minutes later, and Clara gratefully handed the pirate her shovel. Clegane was tall and muscular, a taciturn mountain of a man, and he was able to assist Rory far more efficiently that Clara could. The two men gave each other a quick nod of acknowledgment, then silently kept digging. 

It took them a surprisingly short amount of time to have a decent-sized hole made in the soft earth. Rory’s spade hit something that made a soft clinking noise; too soft for stone, but harder than earth. He knelt down and began brushing away the dirt, and a moment later, he pulled a skeletal hand from the ground. 

“Ugh!” Although he was now both a doctor and a nurse, Rory couldn’t prevent an instinctual shudder of revulsion. He carefully laid the hand on the side of the pit that he and Clegane were digging. 

“All right, Rory, Sandor, you can stop now,” Ashildr told them. “Go find yourself some shade, and rest. I’ll take over from here.”

“Are you sure?” Rory asked. “We can certainly help you.”

Ashildr shook her head. “This, I do alone.”

Her tone of voice indicated she would accept no argument. After a moment’s hesitation, the two men hoisted themselves out of the pit, which now more than slightly resembled the rough outline of a grave. Ashildr lowered herself down into the gaping hole, and instead of taking up one of the shovels, instead took a hand trowel. 

“This may take a while,” she said, with an apologetic smile. “Might be a good opportunity for the rest of you to take a quick _siesta.”_

Amy, Rory, Clegane and the priest did precisely that, finding some shade under the nearby trees and making themselves as comfortable as they could. Clara stayed at the side of the pit. 

“Clara, there’s no need for you to be here too,” Ashildr said. 

“Let me arrange the skeleton for you,” Clara suggested. “You dig, I’ll make sure all the bones are kept together. That is what you wanted, isn’t it.”

After a moment, Ashildr nodded tersely in answer, and then crouched down, turning over the earth carefully with her trowel. The two women worked in silence for a long while, taking breaks frequently and taking long swigs from their canteens. Fortunately, it was now late in the afternoon, and the sun was beginning to disappear behind the trees, giving them some welcome relief from the broiling heat. 

Everyone watched in somber silence as Clara carefully reconstructed a human skeleton, ending finally with shards of a fragmented skull - and it was obvious from those remains that the man had met a very violent end indeed. Ashildr, meanwhile, had uncovered what appeared to be several long wood planks, still remarkably preserved even this far down in the damp earth. 

Wearily, Ashildr climbed out of the grave, with some assistance from Clara. She was now so covered in layers of dirt and sweat that she looked as if she’d been rolling in mud. She didn’t sit so much as collapse by the edge of the grave, visibly exhausted - emotionally and physically.

“Mr. Clegane, Mr. Williams,” she said, rather breathlessly, “Under those planks, you’ll find a sealed chest. Would you kindly bring it up. And be careful. Once those planks come loose, your footing will become quite treacherous.”

Ashildr took a long swig from her canteen as she sat at the edge of the grave, but her eyes were not on the planks that covered the treasure. She was staring at the skeleton, an unreadable expression on her face. 

It did take some delicate maneuvering by the two men, but they eventually got the center planks removed, and slowly brought out a smallish wooden chest, tarnished with age, with a badly rusted padlock. Everyone gathered around to see. 

“Be sure to shore up the underside,” Ashildr warned them. “We left the chest on planks, so it wouldn’t directly touch earth. But the wood may be close to rotted out by now.”

One hard blow from a shovel was enough to splinter the latch from the chest, making the rusted lock useless. Liam glanced at Ashildr. “Do want to do the honors?”

Ashildr curled her lip in disgust. “One of you can do it.”

“It’s not cursed, is it?” Rory asked, only half-jokingly. 

Ashildr wearily shook her head. “It was got by blood. It was kept by blood. That’s curse enough.”

After a brief conferral, Amy and Rory knelt down beside the chest, and slowly and carefully lifted the heavy lid from the corners. Inside, the chest was filled almost to the top with gold doubloons with a Spanish imprint.

“Oh, my God,” Amy laughed. “It even _looks_ like pirate treasure!”

“There you are, Liam,” Ashildr said, momentarily forgetting to use his title in front of the crew. “Payment for you, for our passage. I trust that will cover everything.”

Liam regarded his old friend with obvious concern. “We’ll be happy to take it,” he said. “Are you sure you want nothing for yourself?”

“What I want is to bury this man again, with proper rites,” Ashildr said. “None of you need stay for that, if you don’t want. This is something only I need to do.”

“Who was he?” Clara asked. 

Ashildr sighed. She had no tears, but the sorrow was plain enough in her voice. “I barely knew him. His name was Jackson, or so he told me, and he was from a small town somewhere in Virginia. He couldn’t have been more than nineteen. He seemed far too gentle to be a pirate. And he had the most beautiful smile. He rarely spoke, and even when he did, I confess I barely understood him. I know nothing of his family or the name of his hometown. I don’t even know for certain that he was Catholic.” Ashildr glanced up at the priest. “I _do_ know, he was a believer. And in accordance with that belief, I want to see him properly interred.”

Father Perez frowned in evident confusion. “You say you knew this man? But he was buried a century ago, was he not?”

“Ah. Yes. Time travel.” Ashildr sighed wearily. “It would take far too long to explain, Father. To keep things from getting confusing, let’s just say, the pirate Aislaine murdered this boy in cold blood to keep her treasure safe. And now I’m here as a representative of Aislaine’s family, to pay one debt only. To see that this young man is returned to his grave undisturbed, with proper rites from a priest. I cannot undo the harm Aislaine has done. And what little I can do, I know... it is not enough.”

Ashildr was cheered slightly that everyone agreed to stay and hold a funeral service for a man none of them knew. He was a fellow pirate. That was really all that mattered. 

Father Perez conducted a quick and simple ceremony, and, after the bones were returned to the earth, everyone helped cover the grave over again. 

A short time later, the sun was setting and everyone was on their way back to the beach, and the longboat. Clara walked at Ashildr’s side, saying nothing, watching her lover with deep concern. Ashildr’s face showed utter exhaustion - and not just from physical exertion. This had been a very hard day for her. Fortunately, Clara thought, it was nearly over.

Once the ashore party emerged from the trees, Gibbs looked up at them and smiled in obvious relief. But as everyone prepared to depart, Ashildr broke away, and kept walking at a very deliberate pace down the beach, away from them.

“Where is she going?” Rory wondered.

“Should we follow?” Amy asked. 

Clara motioned they should stay where they were. “Let me deal with this,” she said. “Get ready to leave. I’ll bring her back.”

Clara sprinted after Ashildr, who was visibly staggering as she walked along the beach, right at the water’s edge. Just before Clara reached her, Ashildr crumpled, falling to her knees, leaning forward so far that her forehead nearly touched the sand. An incoming wave gently lapped all around her, and she didn’t even notice.

Clara sighed mournfully. “Oh, Ashildr.”

Ashildr remained on her elbows and knees, sobbing piteously. Clara reached her, sitting beside her even though that meant sitting in about an inch of salt water. She reached over and gently pulled Ashildr upright into a sitting position. 

After a few minutes, Ashildr had cried herself out, and she regarded the sunset with genuine, if tearful, appreciation. 

“Sorry,” she rasped.

“Forget sorry,” Clara decided. “After three centuries, I think you and I can dispense with all the apologies, and formalities of forgiveness. We no longer have need of them. I always forgive you, anything and everything, as you always do for me.” She kissed her cheek. “I just want to know one thing. What do you need.”

Ashildr sighed deeply, and wiped her eyes, which stung all over again, as she was wiping them with hands that had just been rinsed in salt water. 

“I think... I’m ready to go home now,” she said finally.

“Home?” Clara frowned. “You mean... back to Gallifrey. Back to the Matrix.”

Ashildr nodded weakly. “Yeah.”

Clara thought that over for a long moment. 

“Okay,” she agreed.

“Okay?” Ashildr was apparently expecting a protest, or an argument. 

“If you say it’s time to go, then we go,” Clara said simply. 

“You’re okay with that?”

“As long as we’re together, then, yes.”

Ashildr gave her a grateful smile. “I love you, Clara Oswald.”

“I love you, Ashildr.”

They sat in companionable silence, just enjoying the sunset, and ignoring that each incoming wave drenched them a little more. 

“So, Aislaine is buried now?” Clara asked.

“Buried,” Ashildr agreed. “Forgotten, unmourned. Good riddance.”

“I hear tell that her great-great-granddaughter is a pretty decent person,” Clara grinned.

Ashildr shrugged. “Maybe she will be. One day.”

Clara shook her head solemnly. “Aislaine killed a man in cold blood to protect a chest of gold coins. Ashildr saw more value in the man, than the treasure. She was even able to weep for him. I’d say that’s a definite step in the right direction.”

“God, I hope so.” 

Ashildr looked down at herself and sighed in obvious disgust. “Ugh. God. I’m covered in dirt and sweat and sea foam. I haven’t been this disgusting in ages. I must smell like a goat.”

Clara hugged Ashildr tightly, and kissed her.

“I don’t care,” she said. 

And she meant it.


	8. Chapter 8

The next morning, Ashildr awoke a changed woman. The great weight she’d been carrying had been lifted from her heart, and she sat up in the bunk she shared with Clara, a bright smile on her face, one she would keep for the rest of the voyage. She leaned over and kissed Clara effusively.

“Well, _you’re_ feeling better,” Clara smiled sleepily, kissing her back. 

“Yes, I am,” Ashildr agreed, sighing with great contentment. 

Clara pushed herself half-upright on one elbow.

“Still want to go home?” she asked.

“Yes,” Ashildr admitted. “But, we’ll stick to the plan. We’ll have Liam drop us off in Tortuga, so we can pick up the TARDIS, then spend a week in Giverny, like we agreed. We can drop Amy and Rory off home before we go back to Gallifrey.”

Liam Cudahy had already ordered the ship’s return, and they were underway by the time Clara and Ashildr finally emerged from their cabin. The voyage was a short and uneventful one, marked by fair winds and following seas. 

Once the _Winterfell_ made port in Tortuga, Ashildr profusely thanked Father Perez for his willingness to traipse about the islands for a week with a ship full of pirates. 

“It was... fun,” he admitted, with a wide smile. “And gratifying to find, that even among pirates, there are so many who still embrace the faith. I have to say, I wasn’t expecting that. Perhaps while I’m still young enough, I’ll ship out with a pirate crew again. If God wills it.”

Next, Ashildr turned to Liam. As before, she embraced him tightly, not caring if it presented any spectacle. 

“Thank you,” she murmured, while hugging him tightly. “For everything.”

“I should be thanking _you,”_ Liam answered with an amused grin. “You’ve left us all wealthy men.”

“So, you’ll retire, then? Take up a life of ease?”

“I think I’ll stay aboard the _Winterfell_ a while longer,” he allowed. “It’s as much home to me as anywhere else I’ve been. The difference now is, I can be very particular about the sort of work I take on. That’s quite a luxury, for a man my age.”

“Whatever you decide, I wish you the best.”

Liam’s face clouded. “It pains me to think, we might not see each other again.”

“We may not,” Ashildr had to concede. “But I carry you with me, in my heart and in my thoughts. It has been a great blessing of my life to sail with you, Liam. I promise you, you’ll be remembered. And coming from me, that means something.”

She kissed him affectionately.

After making their farewells to the rest of the crew, the four friends descended into the longboat that would take them to the port docks. Mr. Clegane had offered to row them ashore, as a courtesy from one sailor to another. As they left the _Winterfell_ behind, Ashildr gazed after it longingly. Clara noted her reaction with a quiet smile. 

“Not ready to leave?”

Ashildr sighed, shaking herself out of her reverie. “No, definitely ready,” she answered. “Doesn’t mean I won’t miss it, though.”

After arriving at the docks, Ashildr gave Clegane an impressively powerful farewell embrace; then the four friends quickly returned to the TARDIS, discreetly hidden away in an all-but-forgotten side street of the city, and prepared to depart. 

“Amy, I’m so sorry you didn’t get a chance to swash your buckles on this trip,” Ashildr apologized, as she and Clara set about updating the controls.

“That’s all right,” Amy said brightly. “I got to sail aboard a proper pirate ship for a week, be part of the crew, and got to help dig up buried treasure. That’s actually a pretty good adventure. And hey, no ray guns, explosions or spaceships. It’s kind of weird to go somewhere and not have something outer-spacey happen.”

Clara laughed heartily. “That does seem to happen to us a lot, doesn’t it?”

“Rory, I hope you enjoyed your little pirate outing?” Ashildr asked. 

Rory grinned. “Yeah, it was great. Better than I was expecting, actually.”

“Did either of you guys take any doubloons as souvenirs?”

Rory shook his head. “That stuff belongs to history,” he said. “Beside, our memories are worth more.”

“You’re a wise time traveler, Rory,” Clara smiled at him. 

“Well, we’ve had some experience, haven’t we,” Rory chuckled. “Is it just me, or was the world... prettier... in the past?”

“You mean, because there isn’t a high-rise built on every square inch of land?” Clara grinned. “If you liked the Caribbean, trust me, you will _love_ the French countryside of a century ago.”

“We won’t have those spectacular sunsets over the ocean,” Rory pointed out.

“No,” Clara agreed. “But the wine is definitely better.”

“Okay, next stop, Giverny, France, 1885,” Ashildr announced. “Any one want to do the honors?”

“May I?” Amy asked excitedly. 

Ashildr stepped away from the console and gestured grandly towards the lever. 

With a squeal of glee, Amy reached over, grabbed the lever and pulled it forward. A few moments later, the time ship vanished from its location, leaving behind only a momentary gust of wind to indicate its passing.

Somewhere far above the planet, in high earth orbit, a signal was relayed to a monitoring station. Aboard a spartan time capsule, an armored figure, its face completely covered, regarded the incoming transmission carefully. 

_“Misappropriated TARDIS located, and identified,”_ a toneless, robotic voice declared. _“Pursuit is engaged.”_

A moment later, the second time ship vanished as well. 

* * * 

Romana lay across the couch in her private suite, unmoving, staring at nothing. It had been several days since the High Council had passed sentence and forced her to regenerate, effectively ending one of her lives. She was allowed to return home, but with all her privileges as a Time Lord permanently revoked. She was now outcast. 

The forced regeneration was far more painful than Romana had expected. Of course it hurt - it was meant to, it was punishment. But in effect, she had been executed, one of her lives violently terminated, and the memory of that pain was traumatizing. On top of that, she was now just barely a citizen of her own world. Since she was no longer a Time Lord, she had permanently joined the underclass of Gallifreyan society - the people who were, for all practical purposes, slaves who existed only to serve the elites.

For the moment, Romana didn’t care about any of that. All she knew was, she had no desire or intention to remain on Gallifrey. There was no future for her here. All that remained was to work out the details how to get off-planet as quickly as possible, and then never return. 

The door chime signaled a visitor to her chambers, but she didn’t answer it, she didn’t even move in response to it. The chime sounded again. A moment later, the door opened - apparently whoever it was had overridden the lock. Romana didn’t even look up. She really didn’t care who it was, or what they wanted.

Still, she was somewhat astonished when the Lord President himself entered her sitting room. Partly from habit, partly from shock, she pushed herself upright into a sitting position. 

The old man regarded her gravely. 

“I would have rather you answered your own door,” he said. “But I understand if you’re not desiring to have visitors at the moment.”

Romana said nothing, staring at him coldly. 

“How long has it been, since you’ve eaten or drank anything?” the Lord President asked.

Romana didn’t answer. She wasn’t sure she could, suddenly realizing how dry her throat was. 

“The question was a courtesy,” the old man allowed. “You have been, and will continue to be, under constant surveillance. You haven’t so much as moved since you were returned to your chambers. That is neither healthy nor wise.”

He entered the adjoining kitchen and returned a moment later with a glass of water. He held it out to her. 

“Are you planning to just starve all your remaining lives, then?” He proffered the glass again. “Drink it, please. Making yourself ill serves no purpose whatsoever. And you and I have business to discuss.”

With great misgiving, Romana took the glass, and drank slowly. The water did feel good, going down her throat. 

“I thought you would want to know, a Collector has been dispatched to retrieve your two Tellurian friends,” the Lord President said, seating himself on a chair across from her. “It has been ordered not to harm them. But it will impound the TARDIS you gave them, and will bring them back to Gallifrey to be returned to their proper time-streams.”

Romana wasn’t sure she had any voice left, but she spoke. “Why not just kill them.”

The old man snorted. “We’re not the monsters you think we are, Romana.”

“Aren’t you?”

“We haven’t executed a Time Lord for centuries. In fact, the last Time Lord to lose one of his lives for crimes against the state was The Doctor. And that was longer ago now than I care to remember.”

“I’m certain _he_ does,” Romana retorted grimly. 

“As well he should. And so should you.” The Lord President leaned forward slightly in the chair. “I will be blunt with you, Romana. In your current frame of mind, you have no value in Time Lord society. You embrace neither our ideals nor our rules, nor are you likely to - at least, not in the near future. I’m certain you have come to the same conclusion. You want to leave. Isn’t that so?”

“It is,” Romana admitted, after a long hesitation. 

“There is something you can do,” the old man said impressively, “That will help not only yourself, but all of Gallifrey - and will allow you to find a home for yourself where you’ll feel more comfortable.”

Romana frowned in puzzlement. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m referring to that ages-old idea of The Quest. A voyage of exploration, an opportunity to discover oneself... or, to re-invent oneself. We need your help, Romana. A great peril hangs over the entire universe, and as you are actively looking for a horse to get out of town, so to speak, we can provide you with one. In exchange for a... small service.”

“What is it you suggest?”

The Lord President chose his next words carefully. “Tell me, Romana,” he said, “What do you know of... The Key To Time?”


	9. Chapter 9

The Giverny leg of the trip was everything the four time travelers could have hoped for. The farmhouse had been rented out months in advance (time travel was good for something, after all), and except for one stray thunderstorm on an otherwise beautiful afternoon, the summer weather couldn’t have been more perfect.

Everyone made the most of the opportunity to take their ease. Clara and Ashildr slept in disgracefully late every morning, and even in the afternoons, the two of them were often found curled up together on one of the wide couches in the sitting room, taking long, languorous naps. 

Rory appointed himself chef for the week, as he wasn’t in the least thrown by finding himself in a farmhouse in the middle of the countryside with no electricity. He had survived the fall of the Roman Empire; he could work around a simple wood stove and no refrigeration. He and Amy would frequently walk into town in the mornings to buy groceries for the day, filling their basket with bread, fruit, cheese, sometimes meat to cook - and always including at least two bottles of wine; and the dinners he made were basic, simple - and simply extraordinary. The women were all delighted to have a man cook for them, let alone one who actually knew how to cook. As promised, the week consisted mostly of eating good food, drinking good wine, taking long walks in the mornings, and simply lazing about in the backyard in the afternoons. They never got around to meeting Monet, but it never seemed to matter. They were enjoying themselves thoroughly. 

Evenings were spent on the back patio, emptying bottles of wine and talking well into the night. And even after the couples had retired to their own rooms, it was seldom to sleep; the warm, sticky summer nights seemed to invite slow, unhurried lovemaking, and both couples took full advantage of it. Breakfast was always quite late.

Clara and Ashildr were inseparable, constantly holding, touching and hugging one another. They also continued to be seriously devoted to playtime. One afternoon, when Rory decided to try his hand at baking, Clara and Ashildr came into the kitchen, immediately began throwing handfuls of flour at one another, squealing with laughter, until Rory finally chased them out. 

“If you kids don’t behave, I’ll send you to your rooms!” he threatened them, but it was hardly necessary - their peals of laughter indicated they had already chased each other into the backyard. 

“Do you think if we live to be a hundred, will we be like that?” Amy grinned. 

“We were never like that,” Rory sighed. 

“We were, once,” Amy nodded. “When we were much younger. Before life got _serious._ We’ve both forgotten, that’s all. I don’t know, I think those two are onto something.”

And she playfully threw a pinch of flour into Rory’s face. 

A lot of the evening conversations revolved around comparing notes about their time spent with The Doctor, and to a lesser extent, on writing. Ashildr gave Amy some pointers about which volumes of her memoirs might be best suited for adapting into stories that could be published. 

“Do you mind if I start with the volumes when you and Clara began traveling together?” Amy asked. “Now that I’ve met you, and spent time with you, it just seems right. I can’t imagine the two of you ever being apart.”

“I wouldn’t mind at all,” Ashildr answered. “I didn’t realize it at first, but being with Clara has been the happiest time in my life. We were a little out of control in the beginning, but that probably makes for better stories.”

“What do you mean, out of control?”

“Well... you know... rather like your year out before college. You do crazy things. In our case, we basically stole a car, and went joyriding for a century or so.”

“We’ve mellowed a lot since then,” Clara added quickly, although nobody believed her. 

“This might be an indelicate question,” Amy allowed. “But since you were so detailed about your sex lives...”

“Oh, God,” Clara groaned in dismay.

“This is sort of a ‘speak now or forever hold your peace’ moment. How much of that, if any, do you want me to share?”

“All of it,” Ashildr answered, without hesitation. 

“What you wrote is pretty graphic,” Amy reminded her. _“Relentlessly_ graphic.”

“Share all of it,” Ashildr repeated forcefully. 

“No one will think of Jane Austen the same way again.”

Clara and Ashildr exchanged a quick glance. “Maybe... let Jane keep her privacy,” Clara suggested, and Ashildr nodded in agreement. 

“Everything else involving just me and Clara is fair game,” Ashildr declared. She paused, thinking. 

“One other thing,” she added, in all seriousness. “Please remember what you read is always from my point of view, and I don’t always get it right, particularly where Clara was concerned. I could never be dispassionate, writing about her. She won’t have an equal voice. But now that you’ve actually spent time with us both, and have some idea what we’re like, you can be... fairer to her than I was,” she said finally. 

“I’ll do my best to be fair to you both,” Amy promised. “I’m really glad we had this time together. It seems a shame to part from you, when we’ve only just met.”

“You have to remember, we may not look like we’re hundreds of years old, but the mileage is definitely there,” Clara pointed out. “We’ve had our time. But, yes, we’ve enjoyed our time with you and Rory. Very much so.”

“I don’t suppose that ‘Blackpool Button’ still works?” Amy mused hopefully. 

Clara laughed. “I don’t think it’s a ‘get out of jail free’ card, no. I think Romana set that up for one use only.”

“Still... after Rory and I get home, I might try pressing it. Once. Or twice. Or a few times. You know. Just to see what happens.”

“Please do. Who knows, maybe this will be a thing.”

Rory finished filling everyone’s glasses. “This is the last of the wine, ladies,” he warned them. “No more bottles left in the kitchen. So, this is last call, like it or not.”

“May I offer a toast?” Ashildr asked.

“Sure,” Rory shrugged. “What shall we drink to?”

“I’d like to drink to the three of you. The Doctor’s Companions. I never got to travel with The Doctor. I was too much of a psychopath to be allowed inside the TARDIS. But I’m in no way exaggerating when I say, you’ve changed my life. It’s been an honor to travel in time with you.” She held up her glass. “To the Doctor’s Companions.”

“I’d like to point out, you’ve had enough interaction with The Doctor, you can hold the honorary title of Companion,” Rory said, lifting his glass.

“Well, thank you, Rory,” Ashildr smiled. “But I’m afraid in real life, I’m just another Liz Shaw. Always left behind.”

“Elizabeth Shaw never stole a TARDIS of her own and flew away,” Clara pointed out. 

“That’s true,” Ashildr admitted.

“Besides, the four of us have traveled together now, so we can be our own group,” Amy declared. “We’re no longer limited to being just The Doctor’s sidekicks. We’ve established our own time traveling credentials.”

“So, what do we call ourselves, then?” Rory asked. “The Beatles is already taken.”

Before anyone could answer, there was a blinding flash of light, and a metallic figure, like a man in a suit of armor, appeared on the patio with them. It stood approximately seven feet tall, but was not armed - or at least bore no armaments anyone could see or recognize. The figure had a head, but no face. It turned slightly, apparently regarding them all. 

_“Clara Oswald. Ashildr Ionharson,”_ said a toneless voice. _“You have been positively identified as temporally anachronistic organisms. You will surrender yourselves, and return with this unit to Gallifrey for immediate re-integration into the your appropriate time streams.”_

“Sorry, but... _what?”_ Rory gaped. 

“Well... so much for having a trip with nothing outer-spacey,” Amy sighed. 

“Clara,” Ashildr said quietly, “I think our ride is here.”


	10. Chapter 10

Clara awoke to find herself sitting on the floor of the TARDIS. Bewildered, she started to push herself upright. A hand touched her shoulder. 

“Give it a minute.” That was Amy’s voice. “Whatever Robbie the Robot there did to us, it takes a little while to wear off.”

Clara realized she did feel more than a little woozy. Although she was laying on a hard floor, someone had put a sweater beneath her head as an impromptu pillow. Amy, Rory and Ashildr were all staring down at her, with expressions halfway between relief and concern. 

“What... happened?” Clara asked, and her words slurred slightly. 

“We’ve been ‘collected’,” Ashildr said, in a tone dripping with condescension.

“Collected?”

“Apparently, Gallifrey sent out an automated police officer to restrain and capture us. They’re done asking nicely, it seems.”

“Are you guys okay?”

“We’re fine,” Rory assured her. “Bit of a headache. But we’ll live.”

“Where are we now?”

“On our way back to Gallifrey.”

With Amy and Ashildr’s help, Clara slowly sat up. “Whoo. That was a bit of a knock, wasn’t it?”

“Some sort of electrostatic charge,” Rory said. “Crude, but effective.”

“You mean, we were tazed.”

“Something like that.”

Clara looked around. It was the same console room, but the automaton stood motionless beside the controls. 

“Don’t go anywhere near it, or the console,” Rory warned. “If you get within a certain radius, it comes to life and zaps you again.”

“You tried?” Clara guessed.

Rory smiled ruefully. “He can’t damage me, at least, not as badly as you guys. But yeah, we’re not taking control of the ship.”

“Well, I would have preferred they just ask, but Gallifrey is where Ashildr and I were planning to go, anyway,” Clara sighed. “Looks like you two will have to thumb a ride home.”

“Maybe we’ll steal a TARDIS, too,” Amy said, and Clara couldn’t tell if she was joking or not. 

Slowly, Clara got to her feet, and then immediately wished she’d stayed prone; Ashildr helped her over to the stairwell that led to the upper deck, at least there she could assume a more normal sitting position. As Clara slid down onto one of the steps, Ashildr sat beside her and pulled her close. Clara wrapped an arm around her and kissed her cheek. 

“You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Ashildr answered. “A bit put out, but I’m not hurt.”

Amy and Rory settled themselves on the steps immediately below them. 

“Well, this isn’t exactly how I planned to say goodbye to you guys, but...” Clara sighed. “Thanks for spending our holiday with us. It was really nice to meet you both.”

“We just wish there was something more we could do,” Rory said. 

“There is,” Ashildr said. “We left you guys an entire library with our lives in it. Someone’s got to clean out that barn. That’s a pretty big ask, all by itself.”

Amy was obviously still stewing, so Clara reached for her hand, and squeezed it gently. “Thank you, for taking umbrage on our behalf,” she said soberly. “But I promise you, this is okay. Of all the options Ashildr and I had, we couldn’t ask for better. When you and Rory get home, Ashildr and I will be back at the lake house, reliving our perfect moments for all eternity. We’re going to be okay, Amy. It’s going to be okay.”

“You really want this, Blackpool?”

“Hey, by the time you’re looking at your fourth century, you’ll be ready to stop and put your feet up, too, trust me,” Clara grinned. She squeezed Amy’s hand tightly. “I’m really glad, though, that I got to meet you, and spend this time with you. Now I know why The Doctor loves you both so much.”

Amy blushed, and Rory looked at Clara in bemusement. “He actually said that?”

“He talked about you guys _all_ the time,” Clara assured them. “It was obvious he missed you. As a rule, he doesn’t mention his former traveling companions much. Although I suspect he has a soft spot for the Scots. He’d sometimes mention traveling with a Highlander named Jamie McCrimmon, and he was obviously quite fond of him, as well.”

The automaton at the console suddenly jerked to life. 

“Uh, oh,” Rory muttered in warning.

The robot turned, evidently surveying its charges, and satisfied that they were docile, turned back to the console and began making adjustments. 

“We’re materializing,” Clara murmured, although the observation wasn’t really necessary; they all knew how the ship felt upon landing.

A few moments later, the doors opened, and four guards entered. Clara recognized the captain instantly; she didn’t know his name, but she recognized him from her previous visit. And he, evidently, recognized her.

“Not _you_ again,” he groaned in dismay. “Can you not simply stay put?”

“We will this time, we promise,” Clara grinned at him mischievously.

The captain of the guard snorted derisively. “I’ll believe that, when it happens.”

“Captain, we have two friends here, who were accidentally scooped up by that ridiculous ‘Collector’ of yours,” Clara said. “You would please see to it that they are safely returned home, to their correct time and place?”

“Yes, of course,” the captain nodded.

“Are you planning to take us immediately for re-integration?”

“Yes.”

“Then please allow us a moment to say goodbye.”

The four friends very reluctantly got to their feet. Clara hugged Amy fiercely.

“Don’t mourn us,” she murmured in Amy’s ear. “Remember us. Live a wonderful life, Amy Pond.”

“Oi! I’m Leadworth to you,” Amy sniffed.

“Yes. Yes, you are. Love ya, Leadworth,” Clara said, hugging her again. 

Ashildr hugged Rory with equal warmth, and then they exchanged hugging partners. 

“Thanks for agreeing to tell our story,” Ashildr said, hugging Amy. “That was quite a burden we’ve left with you.”

“It’s no burden,” Amy assured her. 

“Whenever you feel like you miss us, just pull one of those volumes out and start reading. That’s me talking to you. I promise, you’ll be bored in no time.” Ashildr leaned up on tiptoes to kiss Amy’s cheek. “And thanks for being my fellow pirate for a week. That means more to me than I can tell you.”

“I’ll always be proud to have served with you aboard the _Winterfell,”_ Amy grinned. But there were tears in her eyes. 

As they exited the capsule, two of the guards took Amy and Rory aside. “If you’ll give us the particulars, we’ll make sure you get safely home,” the guard said. 

Realizing this was the last time she’d see her, Amy turned to Clara. “Give ‘em hell, Blackpool,” she called after her.

“Keep that bottle of wine handy, Leadworth,” Clara called back. “You never know.”

And then the guards led the two pairs of time travelers in separate directions. 

As Clara and Ashildr walked along with the captain and his associate, Clara asked, “Might it be possible to see Romana, before we are re-integrated?”

“I’m sorry, but Romana isn’t here,” the captain answered. “After she was convicted of assisting you to steal a TARDIS, the Lord President pardoned her. She’s off-world now, doing something for him. I have no idea what.”

“Oh. Well, perhaps when she returns, could you please thank her for us?”

“Of course. I really shouldn’t have told you even that much,” he admitted. “But, I know she’s the one Time Lord you’ve had the most interaction with. And you seem to be... friends.”

“I think we are,” Clara agreed thoughtfully.

* * * 

Back in the TARDIS docks, a technician was scanning Rory and Amy for evidence of temporal activity, and he looked up at them with an almost apologetic smile. 

“I hope you’ll be able to give me enough information verbally to return you home,” he said. “The Chronoscan is all over the map with you two. You seem to have traveled quite extensively in time and space.”

“We have,” Rory assured him. 

“Perhaps if you can give me some particulars, I can start plotting a return course for you.”

“If you’re sending us back in a TARDIS, I can even program it for you,” Amy offered, and there was a wicked glint in her eye.

* * * 

A short time later, Amy and Rory found themselves returned to their home. The captain of the guard had personally seen to returning the two tellurians to their rightful place, piloting the TARDIS himself, and he did so without the slightest hint of disdain. He left them on their front doorstep, wished them both well, re-entered the TARDIS, and moments later, the ship vanished as if it had never been there. Amy and Rory had been gone a full two weeks. And they returned after being gone less than half a day from when they left. 

Rory was certain that Amy would still be upset at the treatment Clara and Ashildr had received at the hands of the Time Lords. “You okay?” he asked, trepidatiously. 

Amy gave him a warm, reassuring smile. “Yeah. Really, Rory, I’m fine.”

“You’re sure?”

Amy sighed. “I still don’t like it,” she admitted. “But I know this is what they chose, and they asked me to accept that decision. So I will.” She paused. “They weren’t ready to die.”

“No,” Rory agreed. “But as Clara says, they were ready to stop. It doesn’t always mean the same thing.”

”It’s just... I really liked them,” Amy said sadly. “Both of them. It would have been nice, to spend more time with them. You don’t make friends who understand what it means to be a time traveler every day.”

“That’s for sure,” Rory nodded. 

“And as Clara says, who knows. It’s time travel. They could turn up on our doorstep tomorrow, for all we know.”

“Well... let’s hope they call ahead first,” Rory grinned. “Want some tea?”

Amy sighed gratefully. “That would be _wonderful.”_

As Rory went into the kitchen, Amy fished into her pocket, and took out a small device. Surreptitiously, she opened the coffee table drawer, and placed the device inside - next to the control that opened the library door, and the infamous ‘Blackpool Button’. Nobody was likely to miss a remote-control unit for an older-model TARDIS. And nobody besides Amy would even know what it was. If Amy Pond had learned any one thing from time traveling with The Doctor, it was this: always look for the loopholes. You never know when you might need them. 

She wouldn’t try to use the devices right away in any case. Best to save them for a time when she might really need them. 

Rory returned a few minutes later with a tea tray. Amy was sitting on the couch, thumbing thoughtfully through one of Ashildr’s diaries, her glasses slipped down to the very tip of her nose.

“Melody left us a note, while we were out,” he told her. “Apparently she’s in town, and would like to come over tomorrow night for dinner.”

“Oh, great,” Amy’s smile brightened immediately.

“So after I get off work tomorrow, I thought I’d stop and pick up fixings for steak and kidney pies,” Rory continued. “Unless you’d rather something else.”

“That sounds fine,” Amy assured him. 

“That’s one of Ashildr’s diaries?”

Amy smiled, almost sadly. “Yeah. The first one she wrote after she and Clara started traveling together. Seemed like a good place for me to start.”

Rory left a cup of tea beside her on the coffee table, and left a kiss on her cheek. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

He headed up the stairs. Amy took a sip of her tea, and then re-opened the diary to its first page. 

_“I’m proud to be a thief,”_ Ashildr had written, and Amy could even hear the woman’s voice as she read the words. _“I’ve stolen some of the world’s greatest treasures and artifacts throughout all of history. And always for the thrill of it, of course. It’s not like I need more wealth at this point. Today, though, I stole something I never thought possible. Like all thefts, it was primarily one of unexpected opportunity. I’ve stolen a Gallifreyan vehicle that can travel through all time and space. It’s called a TARDIS. And apparently, with it, there is no place and no time I cannot go. I’ve never stolen anything that I actually intended to use before, not like this. This is something new and quite exciting. And it seems I will have a traveling companion. Her name is Clara Oswald...”_

Amy settled herself comfortably on the couch, pushed her glasses back up to the bridge of her nose, and proceeded to let Ashildr tell her the story of her life. 

_The Doctor’s Companions will return._


End file.
